A Class Gathering

On Saturday, June 9^th, the Triad Alumni Association will host its annual banquet and dinner meeting at Triad High School, North Lewisburg.  This on-going yearly event is a welcome opportunity for old classmates to gather to reminisce. 

The meal is traditional:  a tossed salad, followed by steak, mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans, and dessert.  The price of the meal is $12 per person, and reservations must be made in writing by Friday, May 25^th.  Reservations and payments should be mailed to Chris (Bahan) Phelps, Walnut Hills Subdivision, 920 Old Farm Road, Urbana, Ohio 43078.

This year, the Triad Alumni Association will honor the members of the classes of 2012, 1987, and 1962.  Additionally, the oldest graduates present (lady and gentleman) will be honored.

The Association will be awarding $500 scholarships to specific members of the 2012 graduating class.

Contributions in support of the scholarship program and memorial donations in honor of individuals or classes are always welcome

Characters In My Play: Merle Creviston

Select any community in small-town America, and take a look at its prominent citizens.  Chances are that one or more of them are bankers.  These men (and they generally are men) have invested time, energy, and money in their communities.  They have helped their communities to grow, and prosper often over extended periods of time.  They have helped to provide automobile loans, home mortgages, business start-up and expansion loans, civic improvements, support for schools and athletic teams, and similar ventures.  They are usually the pillars of their communities, actively involved in both secular and church affairs, and most often men of personal integrity, a deep sense of ethics, and pride in what they have accomplished.

One cannot think of the old Bank of North Lewisburg without also thinking of William Merle Creviston.  He was associated with the bank for decades, and could be found on any weekday seated in his comfortable working office, located not far from the tellers’ cages and the front lobby.  He was always fashionably, yet conservatively dressed in a business suit, brilliant white shirt, tie, and highly polished shoes.  He always looked like he had just stepped out of a barber’s shop, with his hair neatly trimmed and parted, his features devoid of any facial hair.  He was a successful businessman, and he looked and acted the part.

He had gone off as a young soldier during World War I.  He had returned to make his mark in the banking world.

In the mid-1950s, Mr. Creviston had a new home built on the south side of North Street, adjacent to the George Bishop home.  It was built of bricks, a modern home set amidst older frame homes which dotted both sides of the street.  When it was being built, a young boy wandered from his own home at the corner of Sycamore and North Streets, to observe the construction day after day.  He always stood away from all of the activity so as not to impede the work…or to cause the construction crew to chase him away.  The hole for the basement was dug, the forms set in place, and the concrete poured to create the walls.  Lumber beams to support the floors were nailed across the vast opening.  The following day, much to the kid’s surprise as he stood watching once again, the construction boss beckoned to him and had him step up on the foundation.  “Want to help?” the boss asked, as he handed the kid a claw hammer, apron, and some nails.  The boy eagerly took the tool, apron and nails and followed the boss as he walked on a section where a subfloor had been installed.  The boss showed the kid what needed to be done to drive the nails into the subfloor boards and then on into the lumber structure.  For the next few hours the boy was in near-rapture as he drove the nails and helped to lay the subfloor.  Work done, he gave the hammer and apron back to the boss, and ran toward home to tell the tale.

Construction proceeded rapidly, and soon the Creviston family made its home in the neighborhood.  Mr. Creviston took his every weekday morning drive down North Street and Sycamore Street to “downtown,” and the Bank of North Lewisburg which stood on East Maple Street.  Late in the day, he made the return trip to his home.  That summer, he asked his newspaper boy (nee carpenter) if he would be interested in occasionally mowing the lawn.

That was my first experience in a long-lasting association with Mr. Creviston.  That summer I mowed the lawn a few times, continued in my duties as his newspaper carrier, and cashed an occasional check I had received (for lawn yard work) at his bank.  I became familiar with Dixie, and Patty, and Bob who all worked in the bank.  And occasionally I saw Mr. Creviston as he went about some banking duty.

My family moved out of town for one year, to a place located on Highway 559 on the route to Woodstock.  I left the old neighborhood of Sycamore and North Streets, but continued in my yard mowing and newspaper ventures.  Summer Saturdays were big for me as I scurried around the town mowing various lawns, and transacting my limited shopping trips – primarily to Alma Hall’s store to purchase the latest issue of MAD magazine or my favorite comic book…or those delicious chocolate-covered peanuts.

Time passed.  I grew older; my business ventures proved more profitable; my wants and needs became more pronounced.  Our family had moved into a two-story house on East Street, adjacent to the old high school building.

I walked into Richard and Leatrice Russell’s electronics store one day and saw a reel-to-reel tape recorder.  It was big and bulky and attractive, and looked like something I really needed for my school work.  The price on the tag was $89, more cash than I had on hand.  Impetuous teen that I was, I left the shop, walked across Maple Street, and went into the Bank of North Lewisburg.  Bob Chamberlain, a teller, asked if he could help me.  I boldly asked if I could speak to Mr. Creviston.  Bob disappeared for a few seconds and then returned to open the door that separated the lobby from the working area of the bank.  I gulped once or twice, and hesitantly followed him to Mr. Creviston’s office.   Bob knocked, Mr. Creviston looked up, and asked me to enter and take a seat.  “What can I do for you, young man?”

He appeared to be attentive as I laid out my story about the tape recorder, and my request for a short-term loan to make the purchase.  He asked me how I intended to repay the loan, and I explained that I would make a payment each Saturday from my weekly lawn mowing receipts or newspaper money.  He gave the matter some thought, and then told me that he would grant a $90 short-term loan, to be paid for at the rate of $5.00 each week until the debt was cleared.  He prepared a contract for me, and had me read it before affixing my signature on the line provided.  He escorted me from the office  back to the lobby, and had one of the tellers…I think it was Bob Chamberlain…issue the currency.  In a daze, and yet somewhat proud of myself, I walked back across the street and bought the tape recorder.  I carried it home, and used it repeatedly in the next few years to record tapes (some of which I still have after all of these years).

I made my weekly payments to the Bank of North Lewisburg, and actually doubled and tripled my payments to help pay off the loan in a relatively short time.  I had my sights set on a new 19-inch black-and-white television for my bedroom!

I worked out another $125 loan arrangement with Mr. Creviston.  Soon the television was part of the décor in my bedroom, and soon thereafter the loan was repaid.

The next object of my affection was a bit higher priced.  I fretted about it for a few days before getting up enough courage to approach Mr. Creviston.  I was 15 years of age by this time, and thought I needed to advance beyond my Schwinn bicycle as a means of transportation.  I was in high school, and needed a way to get around town and the area more quickly, and with less physical effort on my part.

Ronnie Loveland had decided to sell his Lambretta motor scooter.  It was an Italian import scooter, which had been repainted in beautiful tones of metallic brown and crème.  It had seats for two, and a spare tire which was mounted upright behind the passenger seat.  I just had to have it!

It was after dark when I rode my bicycle from my home to the north side of town.  I rang the bell at Mr. Creviston’s home, and was met by Mrs. Creviston.  I asked if I could speak with her husband, and she graciously welcomed me into their home.  She ushered me into the dining room, where Mr. Creviston was standing.  He asked me to take a seat at the table before he sat.  In my teenage way, I told him that I wanted a motor scooter, that Ronnie Loveland had one for sale, and that I needed a bank loan in order to buy it.  I told him that I’d be able to pay the loan, as I had before, from my lawn mowing jobs and paper route earnings.  He talked with me about the dangers of scooters, and how it might be more practical to purchase a car.  I pointed out that I was only 15, and would not be able to have a license to drive a car for another full year.  I emphasized once again how the scooter would help me get around town faster on my paper route and thus provide me with time for other work.  He did not give me a “yes” or a “no,” but he did invite me to stop by the bank the following day during business hours (I was old enough to catch the subtlety in that part of his remarks).

Accordingly, the next day I rode my bicycle to the bank.  I entered the lobby, stated my business, and was escorted to Mr. Creviston’s office.  Banker to customer, he explained the documents which he had already prepared.  He went over the details of the loan and the payment requirements.  He then had me sign the documents, leaned across the desk and extended his hand.  I stood up, shook his hand, and returned to the lobby.  A few minutes later, I was on my Schwinn and on the way home.  I got there, quickly negotiated the lock gate, and walked my bicycle to the back of the house.  I ran back through the gate, across the old school yard and adjacent field behind the Methodist Church, and arrived at Ronnie Loveland’s house.  I met with Ronnie, handed over the cash, took possession of the title, and went with him outside to grab the Lambretta.  He gave me a few last-minute instructions, and soon thereafter I was hurling down the streets toward home.

That Sunday morning I went to services at the Methodist Church.  As I walked into the chapel, I saw Mr. and Mrs. Creviston sitting in their customary pew.  I looked at him, and smiled with a slight nod of my head.  I was surprised when he winked and smiled back at me.

I saw him many, many times after that and over the course of the next several years.  I remained his paperboy for a long, long time.  He and his wife were regular customers at Arthur’s IGA where I later worked for three years.  He could always be found in his pew at the Methodist Church on Sunday mornings.

Years passed, and I moved away from North Lewisburg, and then eventually out of state.  One year I had the opportunity to return home for the Memorial Day observations.  Ralph Westfall, who was commander of the American Legion at that time, offered me the chance to play “Taps” during the ceremonies to honor one of the town’s deceased veterans.  After a similar observance in nearby Woodstock where I also played “Taps,” I arrived at Maple Grove Cemetery in North Lewisburg.  Mr. Westfall told me that the observance there would be in honor of Merle Creviston. 

William Merle Creviston (1897-1981) is buried in Square 164, Lot 4, Gravesite 3.  It was my distinct honor to stand a short distance away from that site, to raise the trumpet to my lips, and to sound “Taps” in memory of a remarkable, community-minded, and gracious man.

Dogs Gone

I’ve always had a love affair with dogs.  There was an old song back in the 1950s which used to be featured on the “Captain Kangaroo” television show from time to time, and the words went something like this:  “My dog is the dog for me, he’s one dog that you gotta see, exactly as a dog should be, he’s got a cold nose and a warm heart.”

My first dog, "Tippy", was literally a prize.  “Back in the day” the community used to host a “Farmers’ Institute” at the old North Lewisburg High School.  There were displays throughout the building of agricultural products which were grown locally, foods and beverages to enjoy, homemade ice cream, games, prizes and entertainment on the auditorium stage.  Sometimes the entertainment was “live,” with local talent (and some not so talented) providing songs, skits, dances and such. 

On this particular occasion, I went to the Institute with my older brother, David Conard.  I was about six or seven at the time, and Dave was a Junior or Senior in high school.  He escorted me around all of the various displays and booths, provided me with goodies from some of the tables, and laughed with me during a showing of a “Three Stooges” film.  There was an intermission of some sort, with a master of ceremonies who presided over a drawing for prizes.  Folks who attended the Institute had tickets, and the stubs were placed in some kind of container for the eventual drawing for the prizes.  My stub was drawn early-on, and I was the proud recipient of a coupon which was good for a couple quarts of home-packed ice cream.  Excited about claiming my prize – and eating it – I conned my older sister, who had also shown up at the gathering, to help me redeem it and then to escort me home.

At the house, I was in the midst of enjoying that creamy, rich, vanilla ice cream (with Hershey’s Chocolate Syrup), when David returned home.  He was carrying a large, cardboard box which seemed to have a mind of its own.  The box was moving around, and sounds were coming from it.   He had me open the lid.  I gazed upon a beautifully colored German Shepherd puppy!  He was all fur, and paws, and lapping tongue as I reached into the box to lift him out.  I held him close to my chest, his gangly body reaching down to the floor.  I promptly named him “Tippy,” and he became my constant companion in the following days and weeks.

“Tippy” grew into a handsome dog, with a rich brown coat accentuated by bands of black hair.  He had a noble, intelligent face, and was to me the smartest dog in the world.  We enjoyed the daily romps on our spacious back lawn, and along the huge garden.  We chased each other around the apple and plum trees, and across the pasture which separated our home from the home of the Homer Howell family.  “Tippy” aggravated Homer’s milk cows a bit, but neither Homer nor his wife ever chastised us for our play.

One day I went out in search of “Tippy” for our usual play date.  He did not respond to my calls and whistles.  Mom joined in the search, but it was quite some time before we found him laying in the shade near one of his favorite trees.  Mom knew at once that he was dead; for me, that reality took some time to set in.  The family later gathered near a deep, wide hole which my step-father, Putt, had dug under the tree.  He had found a cardboard box which was big enough to hold “Tippy’s” body.   My buddy, who had apparently been poisoned by a neighbor farther up the street, was laid to rest.  And I cried my eyes out.

It wasn’t very long after this that Putt brought home a new puppy…a black and white Border Collie.  I named her “Tagalong,” or “Tag” for short, and she lived up to her name.  She followed me everywhere I went in the yard, or to nearby neighbors.  She went with me up the long hill which formed North Street as I made my periodic trips to my new friends, Tom and Jim Reid.  She explored their farm with me, walking in and out of the barns and sheds, across the hay and straw fields, and between the long rows of corn.  She barked with authority at the Black Angus cattle and the milk cows which roamed the pastures.  She sallied forth to the vicinity of Buckshot Hill, and the small patches of trees which lurked on the backside of the prominence.  She followed me as I became more proficient riding my “Hopalong Cassidy” bicycle down the driveway which separated us from the home of Billy and Lydia Curl, and up and down both sides of Sycamore Street.  One of my favorite memories of her is the time that the Reid brothers and I had once again ventured to Buckshot Hill.  There was a huge pile of trees and brush which had been bulldozed from the fence line and left on a level area of the pasture.  We boys were busy playing at war games as we scrambled up and down, over and through the fallen trees.  We had not noticed the gigantic (or so it seemed to us) Black Angus bull which had worked its way toward us.  Suddenly, we saw the bull and realized that he literally stood between us and a safe return home…and he had no intention of letting us climb down from that wood pile.  He snorted and pawed at the ground, and challenged us to make a run for it.  Out from the debris scurried my little “Tagalong,” her tail upright and her bark echoing around us.  She charged the bull, much to his surprise, and then stood her ground as the beast threatened her.  Nimble and quick, she literally ran circles around the bull, barking and yapping at him from all directions.  She occasionally moved in quickly to nip at his legs.  The bull tolerated this annoyance for some time before deciding that retreat was the better part of valor.  He moved away from the wood pile with a snort, and slowly moved toward the herd of milk cows which were heading toward the milk shed.  He followed them, and as the distance grew between him and us, we slowly climbed down from our lofty perches, ran quickly to the fence, climbed over, and began to work our way back toward the house, my valiant little “Tagalong” trotting proudly beside us.

A few weeks later, “Tag” did not appear for her usual routine around our yard.  Mom came to me and told me she heard some noises which appeared to be coming from under the house.  There was an old grate which sat between some cinder blocks, and served as an air duct and access to the crawl space which was located under the house.  I pulled the grate from its mooring, swept aside the wide band of cobwebs which hung there, and slowly crawled under the house.  I had no flashlight, and it was very dark and foreboding as I worked my way under the floor studs.  ‘Way back in the darkest corner, I could hear some whimpering.  The first thought I had was that “Tag” had been injured and had somehow found her way to safety under the house.  As I worked my way toward her, I was aware of more and more sounds.  When I got close enough to reach out to her, she seemed to be happy to experience my touch.  I petted her from head to tail, and felt the mounds of fur which rested beside her.  Slowly I lifted one of the mounds…a furry ball of puppy…and then another, and another, and – There were six of the little pups, and “Tag” did not seem annoyed that I lifted and examined each one of them.  Reassuring her, I took one pup and slowly backtracked to the hole in the cinder blocks.  Mom took the precious little creature from me, and placed it on a blanket.  Slowly I extracted the other pups as Mom added them to the group.  As I worked my way out from under the house, “Tagalong” got up and waddled alongside me.  In the light of the bright morning sun, she appeared emaciated as she emerged from her den.  She moved over to her pups and systematically licked each one of them, and then looked up to me as if to say “How did I do?”

She was an excellent mother to her offspring as she nursed them and watched over them in coming weeks.  We easily found homes for each of the pups.  “Tagalong” said her goodbyes to each of them over the course of a few days.  Once they were all gone, I sometimes wondered how much she missed them.

“Tag” remained my companion for  years.  One summer, I went away for a few weeks’ visit to southern Ohio with my sister, Charma, and her husband Lee Forrest.   While I was gone, little, faithful, beautiful “Tagalong” was struck by a car which was traveling on busy Sycamore Street.  She died, and once again Putt had the unpleasant duty of burying a family pet.  I returned home from my visit, anxious to feel my beloved dog’s “cold nose and warm heart” only to find that I’d never know that comfort again.

The Old Movie Theater Newsreel

When I was a boy, radio was a medium which we generally used for entertainment and rarely to “catch up on the news.”  Television was still in its infancy (we received three stations in North Lewisburg).  CNN, Internet, cell phones, and texting were a long, long way off in the future.

We depended upon our daily newspapers (the Urbana Daily Citizen, the Springfield News-Sun, and primarily the Columbus Dispatch), which were distributed from house-to-house by newspaper boys like myself to keep abreast of what was happening in the world.  Additionally, we went to the local movie theater not simply to be entertained; we went to be informed.

Even our small North Lewisburg theater had a full bill of information to disseminate each evening.  The program started off with previews of coming attractions…those sight and sound bites which stirred up our interests and encouraged us to attend the next major movie event.  These previews were generally followed by a cartoon featuring Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck, Goofy, Tom and Jerry, or other comic characters we had come to know and love.  There might also be an informative “short,” or documentary…a bit of fluff to help us eventually walk out of the theater with some “learning.” 

And before the main feature, there was always a short, grainy, black and white newsreel which reviewed the highlights of the week’s events from around the world.  This short film was our access to the rest of the world…moving pictures which helped us to know and understand what was happening.  A single newsreel usually played all week, until it was replaced by a newer edition at the start of the next week.

I vividly recall those weekly excursions into the world outside our town.  Stories of war (the Korean War was in full-swing at this time), natural disasters like floods and severe weather, and economic woes like the wholesale slaughter and burial of diseased cattle filled the silver screen with glimpses of reality.

One week in February 1952 there was a short newsreel about King George VI and Queen Elizabeth of England who had taken time off from their daily routines to say farewell to their daughter, the Princess Elizabeth, and her husband Phillip.  The young couple was headed out to the far reaches of the British Empire to “show the flag,” so to speak.   George VI, although he was ill from lung cancer (he had recently lost a lung to surgery), wanted to take this occasion to say goodbye to his oldest daughter.

The reader can click on this link to go to YouTube to see this historic newsreel:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z_Pm35pbDfI

Now why, out of all of the newsreels of this time period which are available, did I select this one to feature in this “Along Spain Creek” blog?  There are a few reasons:  Firstly, I remember this newsreel “like it was yesterday.”  The images and the message have stayed with me over these many years since I sat in that aisle seat in the old theater.  Secondly, this newsreel was a prelude to the one which followed the next week, when it was suddenly and dramatically announced that King George VI had died unexpectedly.  Thirdly, it was a prelude to the ascension of Elizabeth II to the throne of Great Britain on February 6, 1952.

Anyone who truly knows me understands that I am an American patriot to the core.  I believe wholeheartedly in our system of government, a Constitutional Republic.  The blood of Revolutionary War veterans courses through my veins.  I have no love of aristocracy or class.

Yet I must admit that Queen Elizabeth II, as she enters her 60^th year as monarch of Great Britain, has been “a class act.”  As an ambulance driver during the harrowing days of World War II, she served her country with honor and distinction.  As Queen, she has served as the focal point of the rich heritage which is the British Commonwealth of Nations.  While outrageous behavior and scandals have brought negative press to the royal family, Elizabeth II has for the most part stood above it.  She has given her heart, her soul, and her very life to her nation and her people.

So, while sitting in that old theater, looking at the then-current newsreel of the events which transpired in early February 1952, with no knowledge of what would happen the following week, those of us who were watching...your parents, your friends, myself and perhaps even you...became parties to history.  And isn’t that life?

May 7, 1945.  It was 67 years ago that my father, Private First Class Ralph Lowell Coleman, died as a result of wounds received in action against the enemy in World War II.  He served as an Infantry Scout with Company H, 185th Regimental Combat Team, 40th Infantry Division.  He was 32 years of age when he died at Tripler General Hospital, Honolulu, Hawaii, after he was evacuated from Panay Island, the Philippines.

He was a genuine war hero, the recipient of the Bronze Star Medal with "V" device for valor, and Oak Leaf; the Purple Heart with three Oak Leaves; the Asiatic-Pacific Theater of War Medal, the World War II Victory Medal, the Philippine Liberation Medal, and the Combat Infantryman Badge. 

He was first buried with full military honors at the Old Post Cemetery, Schofield Barracks, Hawaii.  Later, in February 1949, he was re-interred at the new National Memorial Cemetery of the Pacific, Punchbowl Crater, Honolulu, Hawaii, where he rests in plot O-480 beside his comrades.

In the words of President Harry S Truman, "...he stands in the unbroken line of patriots who have dared to die that freedom might live, and grow, and increase its blessings.  Freedom lives, and through it, he lives - in a way that humbles the undertakings of most men."

I've always been proud to bear his name and to honor his memory.

I salute you, Dad...and love you.

1940.  That was a very good year, at least as far as family history research is concerned.  During April of that year, Nellie Downs - a paid enumerator for the 1940 U. S. Federal Census - made her way around North Lewisburg in Rush Township, Champaign County, Ohio.  She traveled from house to house, took time to sit down with the members of each household, and recorded the required information on her census forms.  This was a painstaking task, but was essential for an accurate accounting of the population of the United States during the 16th U. S. Federal Census.  There were a total of thirty-four (34) questions to be completed on the form for each household.  There was a list of sixteen (16) supplementary questions to only be asked of the individuals whose names appeared on Lines 14 and 29 of the document.

The questions which were asked of all were generic, and consistent with previous census enumerations of the previous 150 years:  location, was the residence owned or rented, its value, and was it part of a farm, the name of each person who resided there as of April 1st, 1940, and the relationship of each person to the head of the household.  Additional questions were asked about sex, color or race, age at last birthday, marital status, education, place of birth, and citizenship status.  There were several questions about employment status and income.

The supplementary questions were asked, as indicated above, of only those individuals who appeared in the record on Lines 14 and 29.  These supplementary questions solicited the individual name, birthplace of parents, language spoken in the home, veterans status, Social Security information, occupation, and information specific to women.

All of these things combined to make the 1940 Census one of the most thorough ever attempted by the United States government.  The immediate result of the census was to allocate additional representation in the United States House of Representatives, based upon population increases in specific states.

By law, the private information contained in a U. S. Census can not be released to the general public for 72 years.  This stipulation is designed to protect the privacy of individuals within the course of their natural lifetimes.  The last census to be released for public use prior to this was the 1930 U. S. Federal Census, which was released in 2002.  Family history researchers were thus anxiously awaiting the release of the 1940 Census.

In April 2012, the 1940 U. S. Federal Census was released for publication.  Thousands of volunteers had helped to make the census available and accessible on the Internet by digitalizing each of the many thousands of pages which make up the enumeration report.  The census can now be read via Internet sites, to include the one located at Ancestry.com.  The reader can go to this location, and if not a subscriber to the site can enroll in a 14-day free trial.  The link to enroll is prominent on this page.  Also readily visible is the link to the 1940 Census, located in the upper right-hand corner of the site's home page.  Click on the link 1940 U.S. Census Is Here and a new Window will open with the heading "America's 1940 Census Is Here."

Review this page carefully for some interesting photos and facts about the 1940 Census.  Do NOT type any information into the blank form boxes which are available, however.  Instead, after looking over the page, locate the smaller link entitled "See The 1940 Census Now" which is located about half-way down the page, on the right-hand side, in green text.  That link will take you to yet another Windows page where you will be able to browse the entire 1940 Census, page by page.  This area is entitled "Standard Browse (by township)" 

Here's an example of how to use this very effective tool:

• In the blank box under "State," use the arrow at the right side to scroll down to "Ohio" and click.
• In the blank box under "County," use the arrow at the right side to scroll down to "Champaign" and click.
• In the blank box under "Township," use the arrow at the right side to scroll down to "Rush."

Three enumeration district links will "magically" appear:  11-13 Rush Township/North Lewisburg, 11-14 Rush Township/Woodstock/Fountain Park, and 11-15 Rush Township/Outside North Lewisburg or Woodstock.   If your relatives resided in North Lewisburg in 1940, you will want to select the first link.  Woodstock or Fountain Park relatives in 1940?  Select the second link.  Relatives who did not live in the villages of North Lewisburg or Woodstock, but who resided within Rush Township...perhaps on a farm...select link three.

For those of us with North Lewisburg heritages, let's use that link as an example. 

• If you are a subscriber to Ancestry.com (either a regular subscriber like me, or you have signed up for the 14-day free trial) the link will take you to a viewer which will display Page 1 of 20 pages which constitute the 1940 Census for North Lewisburg.  You can see that Nellie Downs started her enumerator duties on April 4th with the household of Robert Kennedy, age 28, his wife Hazel, age 27, and their daughter Nancy, age 2 months.  She completed this page of the document at the 16th residence she visited, the household of Marion Cowgill, age 69, and wife Laura, age 68. 
• Now look at the bottom of that first page of the 1940 Census for North Lewisburg.  See the two individuals who were singled out (Lines 14 and 19) on that page?  Bertha Westfall, a housewife, answered supplemental questions.  And, I was very surprised to see when I first opened this page that my eldest sister, Charma Lee Conard, (Line 19) was likewise singled out for these questions!  Glancing back up to mid-page, I could easily see the records for residence 12, the household of Leonard Conard, age 29, his wife Kathleen Conard, age 28 (my mother!), and my siblings, Charma Lee Conard, age 6, David Conard, age 4, and Norma Conard, age 2.
• By clicking on the arrows at the top of the image page, it is easy to scroll on to Pages 2 - 20 of this document.  Taking your time, you should easily be able to read down the household names to find your 1940s-era relatives.

When I first opened the 1940 Census and started reviewing the documents for North Lewisburg, I was amazed at the number of individuals whom I had known in subsequent years.  I could even envision where they had lived in the late 1940s or 1950s or 1960s.  Excited beyond words, I called my cousin, Betty Evans Mesler (who appears in the 1940 Census), and virtually "walked" down various streets in the town, asking for her input as to who lived where, and how much she remembered about them.  As a result of this and continued research since that time, I can easily plat out a map of North Lewisburg with the homes of residents as they appeared in 1940.  What a great family history research and town history research tool!

If the reader is interested in reviewing the documents for North Lewisburg, Woodstock, Fountain Park, or the outskirts of these areas, just make use of the Enumeration District links as indicated above.

The task will become a great deal easier in months to come as volunteers continue to INDEX all of the names which appeared in the nationwide 1940 Census.  This is a slow process, as there were more than 132 MILLION inhabitants of the United States at that time.  Currently (May 6, 2012) only the following areas have been totally indexed:  Delaware, the District of Columbia, and Nevada.  Other states will follow over a period of time, and the browsing pages at Ancestry.com will be updated on a regular basis.  In the meantime, there are "browsing tools" which have been incorporated into the process.  If the reader is aware of the voting district, or address of 1940s era relatives, these browsing tools will prove to be very helpful.

If the reader has an interest in family history research, or ancestry, or the make-up of the "old hometown" in 1940, you owe it to yourself to take the time to peek at the 1940 U. S. Federal Census. 

Kudos to the many, many volunteers and professionals, and to the National Archives in Washington, D. C., who have all worked together to make this vital census available to us!

The Great Locomotive Chase

April 12, 2012, will mark the 150th Anniversary of the famous "Andrews' Raiders" of the Civil War.  This military action, better known as "The Great Locomotive Chase," was an attempt to disrupt the Confederate supply lines along the Western and Atlantic Railroad in preparation for a massed Union movement against the Rebel stronghold in Chattanooga, Tennessee.  The idea was to steal a steam engine and accompanying cars in the area of Atlanta, Georgia.  This hijacked train was then to be used as the means of travel along the rail line while the raiders cut telegraph lines, dismantled sections of the railroad, and otherwise caused havoc well-behind Confederate lines.   It was hoped that this effort would delay the Confederate reinforcement of Chattanooga via the railroad from Atlanta. 

The group of Union Army volunteers was led by James J. Andrews, a civilian, who proposed the raid.  He solicited the support of 23 other volunteers...22 of these were soldiers from the 2nd Ohio Volunteer Infantry, the 21st Ohio Volunteer Infantry, and the 33rd Ohio Volunteer Infantry.  The other volunteer was William H. Campbell, another civilian.   Following various routes, these men (except two who were detained and enlisted in the Confederate army to cover their activities, and two others who apparently missed the rendezvous by a short time) converged on the area of Marietta, Georgia.  

On April 12th, the steam engine "General," a northbound passenger train, arrived at Big Shanty, Georgia.  The crew and passengers disembarked the train to enjoy breakfast at a local hotel.  Andrews and his raiders hopped aboard the train and slowly steamed out of the town.  William A. Fuller, conductor, and two other men began a foot pursuit of the stolen train.   They then commandeered a handcar in an attempt to catch up with the locomotive. 

Fuller used two other available locomotives in his pursuit...the "Yonah" from Etowah to Kingston, and the "William R. Smith" from Kingston to a break in the rail line south of Adairsville.  He continued to that depot on foot, and there took command of the locomotive "Texas," which was originally headed as a southbound train.  Thus the "Texas" pursued the "General" while running in reverse.

With the telegraph lines cut, no Confederate forces along the route were aware that Union raiders had stolen the "General."  Fuller stopped in Calhoun, Georgia, and loaded aboard his train a detachment of 11 Confederate soldiers.

In the meantime, Andrews plan had been to destroy rails and burn bridges behind the fleeing "General."  However, Fuller's pursuit was fast closing the distance between the two trains.  This was partially due to the fact that the wood supply in the "General" was too damp from overnight rains to burn properly in the boiler.   Just 18 miles below Chattanooga, Tennessee, the "General" came to a halt.  Andrews and his men scattered throughout the countryside in attempts to escape.  Within the next two weeks, all were captured by Confederate forces.

Andrews was tried and convicted as an unlawful combatant and spy.  He was hanged in Atlanta, Georgia, on June 7th.    On June 18th,  seven others were hanged in Atlanta.  Eight men eventually escaped and made their way to the safety of Union lines.  Six others were held as prisoners of war until exchanged on March 17, 1863.

Nineteen of the men would eventually receive the Medal of Honor for their parts in the raid.  Andrews and Campbell, as civilians, were ineligible for that award.

The exploits of these men and their pursuers were memorialized in two motion pictures...a silent film starring Buster Keaton, and the 1956 Disney film "The Great Locomotive Chase," starring Fess Parker as James J. Andrews and Jeffrey Hunter as William A. Fuller

Chapter Two - The Sequel: 1962

In preparation for the 1962 observance of the 100th Anniversary of "The Great Locomotive Chase," the "General" was refurbished at great expense.  Plans were made to feature the locomotive in reenactments of the raid at Big Shanty (now Kennesaw), Georgia.  The train was also scheduled to travel the rails between Atlanta and Chattanooga.

In March, 1962, Milford E. Bowen, Jr., a history teacher at Triad High School (and a true railroad buff) decided to make the drive from Ohio to Georgia to witness "The Great Locomotive Chase." 
He talked about his plans during history class sessions, and eventually approached two students to see if they wanted to join him.  Mike Chamberlain was one of those students, and I was the other.  We were both in our junior year at Triad High School, and thought the trip would be both informative and exciting.

Mr. Bowen had already made arrangements to be absent from school during a portion of the trip south.  It was left to Mike and me to work out our own absences.  Accordingly, I approached Mr. Mendell E. Beattie, Principal, seeking permission to participate in the trip.  "I don't think it would be fair to the other students," was Mr. Beattie's reply.  I noted, however, that although he did not give us explicit permission to be absent, neither did he say "No."

There is an adage that "It is easier to ask forgiveness than it is to ask permission."  Mike and I decided to accompany Mr. Bowen on the trip, and to seek forgiveness later.

We had to make arrangements with Tom and Evelyn Arthur, our employers at Arthurs' IGA in North Lewisburg (we were both stock boys and clerks) to miss a few days of work.  Mike and I visited Tom and Evelyn at their home one evening, shared with them how important this trip would be to us, and convinced them that the store could do without us for a few days.

On the appointed day and at the appropriate time, Mike and I linked up with Mr. Bowen in Urbana.  Mr. Bowen, a large man in both height and weight, had his little, four-passenger Renault (a French automobile) prepared for the road trip.  Behind it, he had attached a single-wheeled utility trailer to hold all of our personal gear, camping gear, food cooler, and such.  He had even created a triangular pennant, with the "General" in silhouette, which flew from the radio antenna on the front of the car.  Loaded up at last, we headed out for Georgia.

We drove to Atlanta, stopping along the way only to refuel the car, to eat, or to otherwise make use of facilities.  In the city, we visited a huge department store where there was a display of model railroad set ups, engines, cars, and other railroad memorabilia.  We also took time to visit the Cyclorama, a gigantic painting which commemorated the "Battle of Atlanta."   Then we continued our journey to Big Shanty, Georgia, where festivities and the arrival of the "General" were scheduled for the next day.

We had planned to camp that evening in a forest area north of Big Shanty.  However, we changed our minds once we saw the community of Big Shanty (Kennesaw) and all that was going on there.  We parked the car and trailer (our Ohio license plates very conspicuous in this Dixie setting), and walked to the "downtown" area of the town.  We were amazed to see all of the booths, and displays, and other activities which were prelude to the arrival of the train the next day.  Mike and I were promptly "arrested" by the local authorities for failing to sport the mandatory beards or other facial hair.  We were incarcerated in a make-shift "jail" which was built of railroad ties.  We were required to remain there until we each paid a fine of fifty cents to be released.  (I still have the receipt for that fine, although it's faded a bit over the past fifty years).

Mr. Bowen approached a group of Confederate re-enactors who were seated around a campfire on a patch of ground adjacent to the railroad tracks.  He asked them if there was a place in town where we could camp for the night.  The men, members of the 1st Georgia Cavalry, invited us to pitch our tent and share the campsite with them. 

Later, when we had set up our small camp, we rejoined the men at the campfire.  Some provided banjo, harmonica, drum, and "spoons" music as they sang Confederate songs.  It was an impressive thing to be a part of it all!

Mike and I decided to walk across the tracks and window-shop along the storefronts.  As we started in that direction, there was a sudden commotion behind us.  We both turned to see a horde of Confederate soldiers, armed with pistols, muskets, and swords, running toward us.  "Yankees!" they yelled as they thundered on toward us.  "Yankees!"

Mike bolted to the right, as I stepped aside to the left.  The soldiers ran right past me, and I hollered "Go get him, boys!" thinking that they were after Mike!  They soon outdistanced him, however.  Their attention was focused on a scarecrow which appeared on the second floor balcony of the hotel.  The scarecrow had been outfitted with a Union blue uniform and hat.  Some soldiers shot at the figure while others continued running toward it.  Eventually, some Confederates grabbed the figure, and threw it from the balcony to the street below.  There was a great deal of noise, including what I believed to be the infamous Rebel "yell" as the street erupted with cheers and gunfire.

The activities mellowed  as the evening progressed.  Final songs were sung around the campfire, and everyone settled in for the night.

The following day, the "General" steamed in to the town, whistle blowing and bell clanging.  There was a renewed spirit of jubilation and celebration from the townspeople and the many thousands of visitors who had come to see this spectacle.   Photographs were quickly snapped.  Home movies were filmed.  Sound recordings were made.  It was so very exciting to be a part of it all.

All too soon, the train slowly rolled northward, picking up the speed which it would need to "make the grade" heading into Atlanta.  We had already dismantled our campsite and reloaded our trailer.  We said goodbye to our Confederate friends, hopped in the little Renault, and began to shadow the "General" on the roadways which led to Atlanta.  Periodically, we pulled ahead of the train's route, parked at the side of the road, and took photos, movies, and recordings of the train as it progressed along the rails.

After Atlanta, we continued our journey back toward home.   Later in the day, it rained.  But even the dark clouds and gray skies above the Great Smoky Mountains did not dampen our spirits.  We had been a part of "The Great Locomotive Chase," and reveled in our opportunity to do so.

Special Notes:

Reader, if you live in the area of Urbana, Champaign County, Ohio, and have an interest in trains, Civil War history, or want to know more about "Andrews' Raiders," mark these events on your calendar:

The Champaign County Library will host a special showing of the 1956 Disney movie, "The Great Locomotive Chase," on Monday, March 26th, at 6 PM.  Better get there early to get a good seat!

The Champaign County Library will also host a special "Andrews' Raid" night on Monday, April 2nd, at 6:30 PM.  Harold George, author and Civil War re-enactor, will give a presentation.  On display will be the actual Medal of Honor awarded to Marion A. Ross (1832-1862), one of the participants in the raid.  Also on display will be the Medal of Honor awarded to Thomas Thompson, 66th Ohio Volunteer Infantry, during the Civil War.  Once again...get there early!

On Saturday, June 23rd, an all-day 150th Anniversary commemorative of the raid will be held in McComb, Ohio.

For additional reading on the raid, check out the memorial page on Find-A-Grave at this URL:

http://www.findagrave.com/cgi-bin/fg.cgi?page=gr&GRid=11575

or Google "Andrews' Raiders"